


Let's Bounce

by ehhhchimatsu



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: BPD junkrat, Bouncer/Punker AU, Friends to Lovers, Homophobic Language, M/M, Minor Violence, Slow Burn, in this AU overwatch doesnt exist and they dont know eachother, or at least attempted, rated for language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-27 13:47:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7620718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ehhhchimatsu/pseuds/ehhhchimatsu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jamison "Junkrat" Fawkes visits Nico's every night to lose himself in the punk music they have to offer. When the bar employs a new bouncer, he's thrown for a loop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Celibacy Rifles

Nico’s was one of the hottest clubs in town.

Well, if by “hottest clubs”, someone meant “most run-down illegal punk bars”, anyway.

It was a fun place, with plenty of excitement happening each night. All different walks of life would come to Nico’s to experience the heart-pounding energy that came only from smashing into other sweating bodies under hot lights while listening to face-paced, anti-system music.

The booze that the pretty skimpies at the bar itself sold was tempting, especially paired with the bartenders’ sweet voices that could make anyone melt. One regular patron of the bar, however, couldn’t be interested any less in the alcohol products. Not that he didn’t like to partake in them as often as possible. Low on cash and sanity already, Jamison Fawkes (known as Junkrat around the semi-dangerous area) preferred to blow his little sum of cash on other things, like packs of smokes.

Going out to the bar for free every night, listening to some jams, getting to experience the thrill of rambling through a crowd while knowing exactly where one was at the same time - it was the life, and Junkrat was living it to the fullest.

That’s what he was heading out to do at eight o’clock in the evening. It was still light out as he walked down the stairs that would lead to the little nook of a joint. Despite it being illegal (well, not outside of the regular club parameters, but illegal in the sense that everyone knew what happened when the place wasn’t open to the “regular” public), it was relatively easy to find. Junkrat had suspected long ago that the owners were paying the city off, possibly in drug money, and definitely in prostitution profits.

Descending the steps, the smog of cigarette smoke washed over him and filled his lungs, and immediately a sense of calm rushed through him at the familiarness of the place. It was home.

“Hey! Peggy!” someone called out, interrupting his thoughts. Scrunching up his nose in disgust at the putrid nickname, at his recognition of the voice, Junkrat swore under his breath. Here we go again, he bitterly thought. He loathed that voice. That sneering, rude little cunt of a voice. He hated it almost as much as who it belonged to.

Junkrat turned his head to look at where the voice was coming from, and through the layers of smoke he could make out exactly who was insulting him. Covered in “stylish” tattoos, leaning up against the wall, and smoking a cigarette, Johnny was the biggest prick he’d ever met, probably to compensate for the tiny one in his trousers.

“Come th’ fuck off, Johnny, I ain’t in for one of your piss rants today.”

Johnny pushed himself off the wall and in two strides was right in front of Junkrat, looking straight up at the man. If he thought he could intimidate a man who was 6’5 and had lost everything long ago, he was sadly mistaken. ‘Rat held his ground as Johnny sized him up, probably wishing that Junkrat had worn a shirt so that he could grab his collar in some poor attempt to look more menacing, he imagined. He wouldn't be giving him the pleasure. Junkrat had his ass kicked more times than he could count and figured that once more wasn’t nothin’ to be wussing out on.

“Why ain’t ya backing down, you rat? Not so sturdy on that leg o’ yours?” If his face could get any uglier, Junkrat wouldn’t have been surprised. It took a lot to hold back from reacting to the situation, it really did. If Junkrat hadn’t wanted to see the band that was playing tonight, if he wasn’t sure that he’d be kicked off the premises three punches in by the bouncer - … speaking of which, where was the thick stump? Bugger hadn’t been late to his job once throughout the years, he -

“Hey man, fucking listen when I’m talkin’ to you, you disgusting fa-”

Johnny was immediately cut off by a hand landing on his shoulder. A very big, very firm one. Having been lost in his thoughts, Junkrat hadn’t bothered paying attention to the - the absolute giant that had come up behind Johnny. Johnny hadn’t noticed either, the way his eyes turned into saucers once he tilted his head and saw the beefy hand, tracing the limb up to the person the hand was connected to.

Junkrat had never seen him before, himself - built like a shit brick house, if he ever did see one. Following Johnny’s gaze leading up to the giant’s face, ‘Rat was impressed at what he saw - this man was quite the brute, pale white scars marring his square face, tufts of grey hair pulled back into a ponytail. His eyes were hidden behind a pair of aviators - even so, it was apparent that his gaze was trained on Johnny, his hand visibly tightening on the quivering cunt’s shoulder.

The large man growled while squeezing his hand, and - “We don’t need no trouble here.” - His, his voice, strewth, it was deep! The grumbling that flowed from the bloke was gruff.

Johnny tried hard to put his conceited face back on, but it was hard to do so with such a painful presence literally pushing down on him. “I ain’t no trouble, dickhead, ease up! If anything, it’s this cripple, here, that should be manhandled righ’ now! Who d’ya think you are, anyway, some hog?”

“‘’m the bouncer. Think you should move on, pal.”

Johnny’s eyes glanced from the bouncer - the new bouncer, Junkrat corrected himself, Big Toni got replaced must’ve been - to Junkrat himself, and glared. “Yeah, whatever, pal,” he spit out mockingly, and yanked himself out of the man’s grasp - Junkrat suspected that the bloke allowed him, too -, making his way back up through the smoke and smog to the stairway clearing. ‘Rat watched him go up, catching his eye when Johnny made a point to look back down at him, giving him a scowl.

After the man had disappeared, Junkrat turned back around to thank the new bouncer for his help - Big Toni had never once done anything like that for him, the lousy bastard.

But the lug had moved - back to the entrance to Nico’s, where he had just let the last person waiting in line in. Being just the two of them now, Junkrat strolled - hobbled, “strolled” was too elegant a phrase for a missing-limbed freak like him - over to the casually-dressed man, looking him up and down once more before striking up a conversation.

“Tha’ was amazin’, mate! Fucker was almost in tears, probably runnin’ off to ‘is mum right now!” Even with Junkrat’s wide arm expressions, the bar’s bouncer stood impossibly rigid at the entrance, his head barely cocked to the side, the only indication that he was listening to the shorter man. He didn’t seem to be much for conversation, Junkrat thought idly, a little disappointed at the the prospect.

Determined as ever to thank the big guy, ‘Rat continued on, directing the conversation at the bouncer himself. “Got a name?”

There was a long stretch of silence after he asked the question, only broken by the sound of warm-up guitars being played inside the establishment. Junkrat idly recalled the main reason he had showed up tonight – the band was a a local band that he favored, one that he'd seen a few dozen times. He figured that it would be fine to miss their first set. A shifting from the big lug in front of him caught his attention, and even further so when the man actually broke his stoicness and answered.

“Roadhog.”

Shortest sentence he ever heard, but that didn't stop a wide grin from breaking out on his face and a snicker from leaving his body. “Perfectly fitting for a lug like ya! M'name's Jamison – Jamison Fawkes – but folks 'round here usually jus' call me Junkrat.” Junkrat's bionic hand reached out towards 'Hog's, grasping it. Through the tiny sensors, he could feel the solidness of the other's palm as he shook it, letting it lay limp and fall to the other's side as he released it soon after. He marveled at how Roadhog's hand had completely decimated his own in size.

“You're a big thella, ain't ya?” He tried conversationally. Bloke must've really drank his milk as an ankle biter, he figured.

He got a noncommittal growl as a response, and a simple, muttered, “For you.”

There was a lull in the conversation before someone abruptly questioned from behind Junkrat, “Can you move it, bud? Tryin' ta get in, here.”

Turning his head to the side, Junkrat saw one of the other usuals of the establishment. A younger sheila that Junkrat hadn't often associated himself with, but didn't mind. A bit of a Clayton's, and a bit loose, but none too bad otherwise. “Yeah, sure, sure,” he said, stepping to the other side of Roadhog for the miss.

As soon as she laid her eyes on Roadhog, they lit up, that was apparent even in the low light of the underground area. “Ooh, a new spruiker? And quite the spunk, too.” She laughed, raising her arms to the side. “Ready for my pat-down, sir.”

Roadhog had remained silent during the gushing, ignoring the obvious advances from the girl. Feather-light touches were made down the lady's sides, Roadhog squatting to pat her legs. Junkrat watched as the sheila puffed her chest out and felt a burn in his stomach, a twist in his gut that he couldn't shake at the act.

Soon enough, Roadhog stood up and nodded at her, satisfied that she wouldn't be bringing a gun to any of the knife fights that occasionally broke out in the rowdy club. It wasn't soon enough in Junkrat's opinion as she lingered at the doorway, waving a flirtatious parting to Roadhog as she entered.

“What a shonky sluzza,” 'Rat muttered under his breath, glaring at her exit. For the nth time that night, Junkrat was busted out of his trailing thoughts by a voice – Roadhog's.

“You goin' in, too, kid?”

Junkrat's eyes glanced down to the strong arms that were folded over Roadhog's chest, and he flashed back to just a minute previous, how he would – as a custom – be patted down before he entered. He gulped. Big Toni had been forceful with all the blokes – rough slaps and shoves into the place was the tradition, and he wondered if it would be the same for the new guy.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, stepping around to be in front of the bar's open door. He lifted his arms, his bracelet on one arm and robotic fixture on the other suddenly seeming all too heavy in the evening.

The hands that grazed his skin and trousers were surprisingly gentle. As gentle as they had been with the lass, even, and, blimey, this was nothin' like Big Toni's weapon checks.

Wearing only shorts and shoes, however, it wasn't long before the moment was over, lost away in a sudden wind that had picked up. A look up to Roadhog giving a nod told him that he was good to go, to go and release what little inhibitions he had left to become part of the scene he grew up in again.

“I'll see you outside later? After the show?” Junkrat asked, not trying hard to leave the hopefulness out of his voice.

“I'll be here,” came the deep reply. “Now quit talkin' m' ear off and scamper, 'Rat.”

That was the most words the bouncer had said to him that evening, and it was positive – as positive as telling Junkrat to scram could be – and he was ecstatic. He had said his name, even. Remembered it. He let out a full-blown high-pitched, giddy laugh, and made his way into the building, looking forward to not only the music, but to the man that he would definitely be seeing more of.


	2. The Saints

Exhilaration and adrenaline was running high through Junkrat as the band finished up their encore. The night had been restless as always, and Junkrat, looking down at his body in the low light of the place, was sure that he could see mixtures of sweat and blood spotting his person – not his own blood, not tonight. There was always that one bloke that just had to get whacked in the face and shake the blood pouring from his nose onto unsuspecting crowd goers.

The place was emptying out, and Junkrat had made it a ritual to always be last rebel out – just to get a chance to savor the ambiance for a few more seconds before returning to his normal day life. As normal a life he had, at least. Having no job really set the gates open for opportunities to do whatever he wanted, opportunities that a nine-to-five suit would grimace and shake his head at.

Remembering his normal, outside-the-bar life reminded him what – or more importantly, who – was waiting outside for him. Not for him specifically, per say, but he could dream.

He wished the crowd pressing and squeezing through the single door would hurry the fuck up, though, he had places to go, a person to see! He pushed a little harder against the person in front of him, hoping to move things along. Just a quick little shove, to get the stumbling jackass motivated to domino-effect the person in front of them.

Instead of that panning out as it should have, the person in front of Junkrat whipped around, revealing the bloke that must've been the one to get wailed on earlier. It was evident, considering the dried blood lines that trailed down his lips and chin. “Oi, th'fuck's your probl'm?”

“M' problem is you, you're goin' fuckin' snail's speed here!”

As soon as the words left Junkrat's mouth, he knew that a fight was brewing. It was about time. As the other guy turned his body fully around, about falling on his arse in the process, Junkrat could tell that he was three sheets to the wind and that this brawl wouldn't be much more than a few punches before it was over. In the close proximity, Junkrat could easily smell the reek of alcohol that hung on the other's breath, lingered in the air surrounding. The man spit on the ground, and Junkrat had to pick up his metal leg to avoid the yellow-tinged phlegm.

“Fuckin' peg-legged li'l....”

A sickening sound cracked through the air as Junkrat brought his hand back from the guy's face, shaking it free of the stinging sensation that always came with the first punch thrown. If his nose wasn't broken before, it certainly was now, more blood running down his face.

“F-f'ckin'... you...” The other slurred, and 'Rat prepared himself for an oncoming punch. 

He found that the punch never came. Rather, a heavy, dead-weight body lunged at him, and they both fell to the floor in a scuffle.

It only lasted a few seconds before both parties were pulled apart, their breathing heavy and fast. Junkrat caught sight of one of the indoor floormen behind the other lug, and could only assume that another one had pulled him apart from the tussle, as well.

“Break it up, you two.” A gruff, authoritative voice coming from behind him confirmed that it indeed was one of the floor's security guards, taking it upon themselves to step in on the crude and heavily uneven fight. Before Junkrat knew it, he was being picked up from underneath his arms – the other fella being lifted by the scruff of his shirt – and taken through the now-clear exit. Without further ado, they were both thrown onto the hard ground, with a retreating call of, “Take care of it out there, you bums.”

The underground alley was illuminated by neon signs, basking the two in a mixture of pink and blue and green glows.

And to put it lightly, Junkrat hurt. His ass hurt from being tossed onto it and his face hurt – he vaguely recalled being punched during the short floor scuffle – and overall the rush of adrenaline caused him to feel weak and exhausted. Drained. He wanted to go back home. A glance at the other lump on the ground showed that the other was unmoving – probably passed out black himself. Junkrat felt similar, the night having taken a toll on him, but he was determined to at least get in his bed before he did so. He just had to take a breath, take a few, and – that's right, almost got it, just pick yerself up there, and – 

“You look beat.”

That instantly-recognizable deep voice knocked him off course of his pep talk, causing him to fall back and onto his side in a pitiful heap. Rolling over, he now saw Roadhog, who was in the same location he had been hours ago, this time with those log arms folded against his chest. “Yeah, mate, feel it, too.”

“Need help?”

Although the question sounded sincere enough, Roadhog didn't look all that ready or eager to move from his position. 'Rat looked past that when he answered, “'D 'ppreciate it.”

Roadhog gave a grunt in acknowledgment, then unfolded his arms to push himself off of the wall, walking... inside the building. 

Not towards Junkrat at all.

Fucking – inside! 

If Junkrat had any more energy, he would've been seething. He would have screamed, yelled, made a scene bigger than he had. Ask a bloke if he needs assistance and then turn an' walk away? The fuck!

The nerve of that shitstack.

A short time later, and still no appearance from his supposed-to-be-savior. … It was useless to grovel, he figured, rolling onto his stomach. He could get up himself. Walk home like he always did. He was independent. He didn't need any fat pig to help him, no how.

He thought this and more as he struggled to push himself up into a sitting position, his real and bionic arm both trying hard to hold his tired weight.

He didn't even notice a figure towering above him until a hand as big as his head nudged his shoulder and spooked him, making him drop himself and grunting out an “oof!” as he fell face-first into the ground once more.

“Easy there,” Roadhog – he... he actually came back? – murmured, a soothing lilt to his words.

He was being lifted again, except this time he was put back on his two legs and held – gently, as if he could break, why the hell was he so gentle when he had just left him to rot five minutes ago? – until he was stable. It took a minute for him to fully regain his balance, the touch and previous anger having awakened him from his drowsiness significantly.

“Better?” was the question asked as Roadhog let go of the smaller man. He stayed close, in case 'Rat still wasn't the steadiest.

The man obviously was, as he spun around on him first chance he got. “No thanks to you! I ask for help an' ya leave me, ya bloody, hulking loaf!”

Roadhog remained silent for a moment, letting the angered man cool down before he responded. “Sorry. Had to punch out 'f work. Got ya this, too.” From his pocket he pulled out a Ziploc bag, within it a few ice cubes, just barely beginning to melt. “Ya got a shiner.”

Junkrat deflated at the short sentences, letting a tiny “oh” escape his lips. He lowered his arms, not even realizing that they had been raised in preparation for another fight – oh man, just imagining taking on that giant of a bloke in a toss-up sent shivers down his spine. A scrapper of his caliber wasn't even ready for that. Yet.

He made to touch his eye, but the larger man stopped him before he even could, grabbing his wrist. “Don't,” he near-growled, replacing 'Rat's hand with his own, the one holding the ice. He was light as a feather when placing the ice on Rat's right eye, but Junkrat still flinched, the sting of the ice burning his eye lid and cheek. The bag was dabbed around the area, careful not to stay in one place for too long to help the sting. He was practiced at this, it seemed.

'Rat didn't know how long they were standing there, but eventually 'Hog pulled away, bringing Rat's wrist up – he had held it the entire time, Junkrat then realized with cheeks pink, not completely from the ice – to hold the ice to the area.

Junkrat ruined the silence that the two had made, jokingly stating, “Well, guess the whole right side o' me is messed up now, huh?”

Roadhog didn't reply, but Junkrat swore he saw the slightest upturning of lips, and that was good enough for him to be happy the whole rest of the night if nothing else went wrong. That was a big “if”. Junkrat was as unlucky as he was a nobody. Both being dreadful qualities to have in this neck o' the woods.

“Can ya make it home okay?” Roadhog piped up. “'S late.”

Junkrat laughed, suddenly all too pleased at the big lug's caring attitude. He must definitely be new around here.

It was a nice change of pace, he had to admit.

“I'll probably be fine,” Junkrat confessed, looking up at the bouncer. “I wouldn't say no t' havin' a cuppa over at your place, though.” He wiggled his eyebrows for emphasis, blatantly disregarding any consequences for his flirtatious suggestion. It wasn't as if the bloke would take him seriously anyway. Still, after a second of thought he added on, “In a mate sense, o' course. You're new, I've lived here forever, ya know?”

The other seemed to regard him for a short period of time before turning his head, breaking the apparent eye contact they were having – the aviators he wore were impossible to see through at this time of night, now. “Can't. Have to get some sleep.”

And with that, he started walking away from Junkrat for the second time that night. This time, however, Junkrat was adamant to make him turn back around, to get him to stop, for just a second and reconsider. “Wait, wait, wait! Wha' about the still bloke on the dirt?” He called out to the back of the large man.

“He'll be fine,” Roadhog replied, not turning around. “Told management.”

Junkrat was quick with another prompt. “Hey, hey, uh – shit!” Seeing the man trekking up the stairs and out of sight, 'Rat hurriedly followed, catching up with the lumbering man not too long after. “What about,” he took a moment to catch his breath from the sprint, “What about – how 'bout this? You don't know the way around the city – I could show ya all the places. Take ya out for a drink sometime. Yeah?”

Roadhog had finally stopped in his tracks, still not facing the younger man.

“We'll see,” he simply said, and that was enough for Junkrat. He could die right now and go to hell happy as a clam. He resisted the urge to jump around and yell out victories. He was practically vibrating with excitement at the prospect of future outings with Roadhog.

“Aces,” came bubbling out of him. “I'll catch ya tomorrow, then!”

A wave was the response he got as the man continued his way to wherever he lived, leaving Junkrat to revel in his triumph alone.

**Author's Note:**

> this was originally going to be titled "intercourse revolvers" but i decided on a pun instead rip me
> 
> ANYWAY this is my brand spanking new roadrat au and i would love any and all feedback and comments??
> 
> and as always plz come talk to me about my trash babies over at:  
> ehhhchimatsu.tumblr.com


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